The Love Letter Chronicles
by Caster
Summary: Maybe there’s hope for the future generations after all. [NickxGreg]


A/T: For the lovely (and extremely talented, although _Triangle_ still makes me cry. -) Serenity151979, who requested a Nick/Greg with the words _orange, Placebo, sausage, serenity_, and _telephone_.

Disclaimer: Not yours, not mine. Le sigh!

The Love Letter Chronicles

It's clever, Lindsey thinks, for someone to hide love letters in the attic. Who goes up in their attic anyway? Not many, and those who do only go up two or three times a year. The space is usually messy and not many have any incentive to clean them, so secrets could typically be kept in attics as opposed to the backs of closets or under beds.

It's even more clever, she thinks, to hide them in a shoebox labeled 'X-mas' and stash them in the corner of said attic, hidden behind containers of junk. Her Uncle Nicky is a pretty organized guy, but his attic could use some work, and if _his _attic could use a vacuum, then she dreads to think of what her Uncle Warrick's or Uncle Grissom's or –even worse- Uncle Greg's looks like.

However, it _wasn't_ clever to forget they were there.

She supposes that's why she's curled up on her mattress, reading them by flashlight. Her bedtime was hours ago, but she can't stop soaking in the words, trying to put the letters in the correct sequence. Her mom had left for work while her grandmother watched television; it was _What's Happening!_, her grandmother's old favorite. She won't be getting up anytime soon and Lindsey knows she has quite a while before anyone thinks to see if she's actually asleep.

She bites her lip as she glances at the box. It was going to be difficult to sleep anyway, because she had more or less stolen them from her uncle Nick's attic that afternoon and the guilt wasn't exactly comforting. She rolls her eyes at herself and tries to push the shame away; was it her fault that the box had all but called to her? She shifts in her bed again, the memory of that afternoon playing in her mind.

_She, being the youngest, had been "volunteered" into climbing into Nick's attic to retrieve the numerous bins filled with holiday decorations. The Las Vegas crime lab's graveyard shift had a Christmas party every year. Last year it had been at Warrick's place and the year before it had been her mom's house, but Nick had offered this time around. _

_That, of course, meant that everyone needed to pitch in and assist in decking the halls. She didn't mind going up there; it made her feel like she was doing something helpful and productive as opposed to sitting on the couch, watching everyone else draw straws to see who was to be forced to enter the confines of the attic. It was a dreaded task and Warrick, Nick, Greg, Grissom, Sara, and her mother often tried to pin the job onto someone else. A few years ago, when she was about nine, they decided to draw straws to see who was going to be the year's unfortunate soul._

_However, this year was different. She was fourteen and perfectly capable of doing the job herself; at least, that's what everyone else seemed to believe. So she dutifully took down each bin and box, content to do her part, until she saw the shoebox_.

When she had first laid eyes on it, she was ready to simply take it down with everything else. But something was odd, because while the rest of the containers had been large, this box was tiny. What could is possibly hold? Maybe it was her inherited curiosity that insisted she take a peek inside, but she had found herself removing the lid and stilling at the sight before her.

Letters. Concert tickets. Movie stubs. Notes on wrinkled Post-Its.

She had picked one up and unfolded it. Scrawled on the yellow paper was

**Nick,**

**Hiding from our friends isn't going to solve anything. If you don't love me, then let's just end it. How about that? We've been under the radar for so long and I can't take it anymore. Maybe you like it in the closet, but don't drag me in there with you. **

**Can't you make a decision?**

That's all it had said and it wasn't even signed, but she knows Greg's handwriting like she knows her own; loopy, scribbled, and often containing numerous misspellings.

Her eyebrows had met her hairline as she replaced the note into its envelope and found another.

**Hey Nicky baby,**

**How about dinner? My place? Your place? A grease spoon? A five star? Anywhere you want is fine with me. This case is killing you; don't try and deny it, either, 'cause I can tell. **

**We can talk about it later if you want. If you don't, then that's fine too. I just want to see you.**

But the first note was angry and the second was hopeful; she furrowed her brow, looking for a date on either and finding none. They couldn't possibly be in the right order.

**Nicky,**

**I want to tell them. Why do we have to keep hiding it? **

**Please don't be ashamed of us, baby. We have so much to be proud of.**

Lindsey comes back from the memory, glancing around and realizing that she was still on her bed, curled up and reading some of Greg's strangely poignant words. She wants to tell her mom; it seems exciting and frightening at the same time, but she knows she can't.

Because now she has a secret, a hint of what was, and she has this inexplicable feeling that only she was meant to find them.

Maybe she was meant to piece it together.

Either way, she knows she simply can't let it go.

…

The next day is Monday and she wishes she could fake sick. She has this urge to start trying to put the letters in order, to see how the relationship began and why it ended. However, she knows she can't and so she goes to school, but not before burying the shoebox in the back of her hope chest, which was, conveniently, in the back of her closet. No one ever went in there, mainly because it was where all the winter clothes were stored… and let's be serious. Winter? In Las Vegas? Ha.

She waits impatiently through her day, trying not to roll her eyes at her teacher's droning. The only thing that's vaguely interesting is lunch where she sits with her friends. She listens as Anne tells her about a movie called The Love Letter and although Lindsey's been withdrawn throughout the day, deep in her own thoughts, in the mysteries of Uncle Nick's letters, she can't help but tune into the conversation. The title strikes her interest.

"How does it end?" she asks, curious, because she's suddenly struck with an idea.

"It turns out that the woman never got the proposal, which was why she never accepted. But it ends hopefully, y'know? Like they might get together eventually."

It's only two weeks until Christmas.

And she thinks, _How romantic would it be to fall in love on a holiday like that?_

And although she doesn't mean to, she begins plotting. (She's sure that she inherited _that _particular trait from her mother as well.)

…

It's Tuesday afternoon. She manages to survive another suffocating school day only to fly home, bury herself in her room, and start cataloging every item within the box. That's one of the first things she ever learned from her mother, job wise. _Catalog everything._ Every used tissue, every gum wrapper, every toilet paper roll, because it all adds up to something.

By the time she finishes, she counts forty-two Post Its, twenty-seven letters, six movie stubs, four cards, and only two concert tickets.

She sighs. Her mother is a great investigator and often has to timeline things. Lindsey wonders how she does it. It's a lot harder than it looks; trying to put the puzzle together isn't a simple task. What makes it worse is that she had stolen them; she feels bad about that, but her curiosity often leads her to do stupid things. She was invading her uncle's privacy and she's ashamed, but it's a mystery and she _loves_ mysteries.

She takes a breath. She should start establishing the facts first. That's what her mother did.

Fact #1: All of this stuff was from Greg, kept by Nick. It was possible that Greg did the same thing; that is, kept all of Nick's mementos, but she doesn't visit his house often. In other words, she has no way of knowing. She only has half of her evidence, but it's more than enough to start with.

Fact #2: She has no idea what the hell she's doing.

She acknowledges fact #2 with startling clarity, but quickly pushes it aside. Incompetence was a minor detail. She bites her lip, her only two facts now confirmed. Her second step is to list everything she knows about the case.

She pauses for a moment.

In truth, she doesn't have much information regarding the "case", but she remembers that those two seemed super close a few months ago. It was safe to say that most of the paraphernalia was probably from then, but that's all she really has. However, she _does_ know that adults don't differ from teenagers when it comes to flirting. If Nick and Greg had started dating, they would have been flirtatious in the beginning.

She nods to herself, although there's no one there to see it. She puts away everything except the letters, intent to organize those first. All she has to do is find the coy letters and work her way forwards.

She begins her task.

…

Wednesday afternoon tells her that this _definitely_ isn't as easy as she thought it would be. She divides the letters into piles according to the tone of each one, although a lot of them are playful and she isn't sure which ones go first. She's almost tempted to give up, but knows her mother nor her uncles ever gave up and she wasn't about to start either. Nevertheless, she decides to take a break and goes downstairs, where her mother and grandmother are serving up the plates for dinner.

"Hey mom," she says, giving her mother a hug from behind.

Catherine turns and gives her daughter a smile. "Hey sweetie. What've you been up to?"

"Just some homework," Lindsey replies, shrugging, and tries not to inwardly wince; she had just told a blatant lie. "The usual stuff."

"Well, you've been awfully quiet. It's kinda nice."

"Hey!" Lindsey says, but knows her mom's only teasing and isn't honestly offended.

As they settle at the table, intent on devouring the sausage casserole her grandmother had made, she asks, "So how's work?" She's always interested in what her mother does and the mysteries she often unravels. She jumps at any chance to go along with her to the lab, to say hello to the technicians, to see the graveyard shift doing what they did best.

"We've got two open cases with so many prints that Jacqui won't ever be finished," Catherine replies. "Not to mention the endless amount of trace. It's been pretty hectic."

"Who do you think did it?"

Catherine shrugs. "I don't have the slightest clue. We started at the hotel and just keep working backwards."

"Really?" Lindsey asks, looking up from her meal. "You go back?"

Catherine nods as she takes a bite of her food. "When it comes to our cases, honey, we always have to go in reverse. It's the only way to find the beginning."

Lindsey smiles as she swallows a forkful of mashed potatoes; _that's _the clue she was missing. _That's_ the part she had forgotten.

_Go backwards._

…

Thursday afternoon, that's exactly what she does. She re-sorts them, only she takes the angriest ones first and begins at the end and works her way back.

**Nick,**

**Let's just end it. Forget these last eight months ever happened. You're so good at it anyway; I wouldn't be surprised if you were actually relieved. **

**I'm giving you an easy out, Stokes. I suggest you take it.**

That, she decides, is the angriest. So she starts her pile, gently placing it on the floor. She bites her thumbnail in thought (although Mia told her not to) as she shuffles through the worn pages.

**Nicky,**

**Are you saying you want to break up? I don't understand. I only suggested that we come out to David. He's one of my best friends and I know he'd support us.**

**Can't we talk about it?**

It sounds desperate, but not desperate enough. If her fellow classmates were anything to go by, there was the desperation, the last attempt, and _then_ the anger. She sets in search of the "last attempt" letter.

**Nick,**

**Okay, we won't say anything to anyone. You aren't ready; I get that. Let's just take it slow, all right?**

**Please don't be upset.**

That sounds more last attempt-ish to her, so she quickly places that one next, and then the desperation letter. She thinks that her mother's method of going backwards is much easier than starting at the beginning. Why hadn't she thought of that?

When she hears her grandmother outside of her door an hour later, she shoves them back into the shoebox and then into the chest.

She thinks that maybe storing them in her hope chest is a good thing, because hope is exactly what they need.

…

By Friday afternoon, it's her firm belief that she deserves a gold medal. She successfully (or so she believes) timelined the entire stack of letters, from the uncertain confession to the love to the breakup. They were all in order, in succession.

She can't help but keep reading the first "confession" letter Greg sent Nick. Well, Nick sent his first and this one was in response, but it was still a confession nonetheless.

She sees her friends send these types of letters to boys in her school almost every day, but they can't possibly be in love. It's middle school; they were too young and it didn't make any sense. But her Uncle Nicky and Uncle Greg were different stories; she knows they're the real deal and all they need is a little push.

**Dear Nick,**

**I'm still trying to breathe. I've only just managed to start formulating a response and then actually writing it down. Your letter was so unexpected but incredibly welcomed. I just don't know what to say, except that you've made me really happy.**

**I always thought that only in my fantasies could you return my feelings, but for it to happen in reality? And through a letter I found in my locker? Truth be told, I'm still trying to comprehend the fact that you wrote a letter in the first place. That's so old school, but good old school, because there's nothing romantic about sending an e-mail.**

**Where do I start? I'm still trying to process it all. I know we've been flirting for a long time, but I always thought it went over your head, that maybe you didn't realize what we were unconsciously doing. I, like you, didn't want to risk our friendship, so I kept my thoughts to myself. I guess we were both a little obvious to everyone except each other. **

**I just want you to know that I'm sincere. If you're serious about this leaving the ground, then I want it to be the real thing because I've waited such a long time for this. Is that okay with you? It might not be easy at first, but I know we could be good together if we each gave it a try.**

**What I'm trying to say is that I love you too. I have for a long time (the second I met you, I was interested. It almost feels ridiculous that we've waited five years for something we both wanted.) and I've spent many a day trying not to scream it at the top of my lungs. My only regret is that we've been wasting time, but we can make up for it now. How about it, Nicky?**

**We can take this as slowly as you'd like. (I know you're nervous, because you're always nervous about this kind of thing.) I've been yours since the moment we first saw each other, so I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me… hope you don't mind.**

**Yours,  
****Greg**

…

Saturday involves trying to figure out at what point they went to which concert. This is an easy task, as were the movies stubs, because some of the letters are actually questions, asking if Nick would like to go to a concert or to the theater. She tapes the tiny mementos to the letter with the corresponding query.

She wishes they were all this simple.

…

Sunday she goes to church and then sees her friends afterwards. There's no time to work on her pet project, but she's happy with the fact that all she has left to do is sort out the Post-Its and cards, after which she knows she has to formulate a plan to get her uncles back together.

After all, she doesn't want her efforts to be wasted.

…

Monday brings her a book report, so she only has time to go through the cards. She manages to file those away as well (in order, mind you) before she takes a glance at the formidable pack of Post Its, grimaces, and places the box back into the chest. She doesn't have time for those today and, upon further reflection, probably won't have time for those this _year_. As she mulls over the prose of _The Red Badge of Courage_, her mind wanders back to the stack of notes. Were the notes really that important? Probably not. They were silly at best; it was the letters that had been the most vital, but they were already in their correct categorization.

So she makes a decision.

She could either start hatching a matchmaking scheme or spend her efforts timelining the Post Its.

An alarming image resembling the colorful stack of small, square papers flashes through her mind and the choice is instantly made.

The scheme it is.

…

Through Tuesday and Wednesday, she plots. Although, to be quite truthful, she isn't doing too well at the whole matchmaking thing. Wednesday proves to be difficult as well, and all she really has to work with is the Christmas party on Saturday. She knows they'll both be there; heck, _everyone_ is going to be there and she thinks it might be her only chance.

On Thursday, she asks Anne about it. Of course, she doesn't give her friend details (Anne still thinks it's for a story she wrote in Creative English) but Anne is more than thrilled to help her out. Lindsey describes the two, making one of them female for the sake of simplicity, and they spend their entire lunch break trying to conceive a plan that's worth putting into motion. Anne even calls that afternoon and Lindsey clutches the telephone receiver as they put the final touches on their basic –but careful- scheme.

By Friday, the strategy is complete.

All Lindsey needs is some wrapping paper.

…

She thinks that the party's pretty hoppin' for such serious people. Most of the graveyard shift is there; she and her mother, of course, plus a few close lab technicians. She's pleased to see Jacqui, who's almost as cool as her mom. She sees Archie too, and Bobby, and even David Hodges, who she secretly finds to be hilarious and when it's only the two of them, he's nice. Nicer than he acts in public, because he'll share his secrets with her. For instance, she had confessed that she liked 70's music once. It's a humiliating thing to admit and David, who could see how troubled how she was about the situation, whispered that he liked The Killers. She supposes it's a shameful thing for him two own up to; it's one of Greg's favorite bands and David has always put extra effort into making sure that everyone knows he _loathes_ Greg's music.

Nick's house is the perfect place to have a holiday party, because the kitchen is bigger than a closet and there's always a comfortable place to sit in the living room. She quickly says hello to her mother's friends before making her way to the tree; she knows she won't be able to concentrate on anything else until she puts her plan into motion. She wishes her plot were more elaborate and, upon further reflection, less obvious, but she knows she can't give up. Not after two weeks of sorting and investigating and especially not after convincing herself that she was meant to find the box, that she was supposed to somehow make Nick and Greg happy again. She wants it to work, more than anything she has ever wanted in her entire life.

It's a simple plan, she thinks, and she knows that this will either work beautifully or explode in her face. She sucks in a breath and prays for the former. She has her orange backpack with her, stuffed with presents for everyone else, so she crams all of her presents under the tree and along with those is a wrapped shoebox with Greg's name on the gift tag.

She's able to ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut for the next hour as the guests keep arriving, all of who bear gifts. They put the packages under the tree, slowly covering hers up beneath the growing pile, and the 'out of sight, out of mind' cliché actually works, because she's able to relax for a few minutes. It isn't until everyone's there that Nick ushers them over to the tree, numerous boxes and bags stacked so that it looks like a small, colorful city.

"Who wants to go first?" Catherine asks once they settle, and everyone glances at each other, shrugging. Lindsey giggles at that, because the rumor was that adults were supposed to be decisive. She has a suspicion that adults were really just children who had graduated school and gotten jobs.

"Okay then," Catherine says, laughing with her daughter. "We'll let chance decide. How about that?" So she grabs the first box she sees and reads the nametag out loud –"Gill Grissom."- and hands it to a rather wary looking entomologist. It goes on like that, everyone enjoying not only the gifts but each other's company, and Lindsey decides to sit next to David because he looks a little out of place. Not only that, but no one seems to have bought him anything, which isn't surprising. After all, he's a terribly tricky man to shop for.

She's in an animated discussion with him about which Monty Python movie's the best when she sees her mother hand Greg a familiar looking gift and she can't help but stop short, her words falling flat. David's eyes flicker towards the young CSI and he merely waits to see what the package contains, not inquiring into her sudden hush. Lindsey appreciates that.

"Open it," Catherine insists to the young CSI. "Who's it from?"

Greg grins and checks the tag; when he sees only his name, his grin widens and he replies, "It doesn't say."

"Then don't keep us waiting," Jacqui whines. "Come on and tear off that paper."

So Greg does; he's a child at heart and revels in secret gift giving. When the shoebox is in full view, Lindsey can't help but glance towards Nick, who has turned a shade of white upon seeing the container. She fights off a bout of panic; Nick obviously recognized the box. Maybe he hasn't forgotten about it. Maybe this was the worst idea ever. Maybe she'll die before reaching the age of fifteen.

"Shoes, huh?" Greg asks, still grinning as he removes the lid. "Well, if someone would tell…"

Greg trails off when he finally sees its contents. She can tell he's trying to figure it out, because he doesn't understand why someone has given him a box full of papers and he hates not understanding things. He picks up the first letter in the pile and removes it from its envelope. He's still smiling as he reads it, although it's obvious that he begins to recognize the words and when it finally hits him, his smile is so fixed that it looks painful.

Warrick's eyebrows rise. "Dude, what is it?"

Greg clears his throat and manages to say, "Stationary. Very nice stationary, actually."

Warrick's expression is incredulous. "Someone gave you stationary? Do you even write real letters?"

"Only to very special people," Greg replies, grinning, and a faint hint of pink graces Nick's otherwise pale complexion. "Which might explain why you've yet to receive one of my written masterpieces."

Of course, Lindsey knows it isn't stationary and David looks rather doubtful as well, but everyone seems content with the answer. Greg quickly puts the lid back on the container and for an added effect, says in a playful voice, "Thanks to whoever this is from. I'm going to find out and write you a long thank you note."

It looks as if Greg desperately wants to talk to Nick, but is able to wait for everyone to finish unwrapping his or her own gifts. Lindsey gives everyone else homemade things –even Greg, because it would be a bit obvious if she didn't- like ornaments and picture frames. She had worked particularly hard on David's, because the man was a complex puzzle to figure out. (She had eventually chosen to make him a batch of tree ornaments. She thinks he likes them.) She, in turn, receives more than she probably deserves, but her favorite is the new Placebo CD that she can't wait to listen to.

All the while, Greg makes sure his letterbox stays out of anyone else's hands but his.

When the living room's successfully blanketed in colorful paper, a unanimous decision is made: it's time to eat.

Lindsey's thankful for this, because she's famished and she thinks that matchmaking is too exhausting to do on a regular basis. However, she can't help but notice that Nick and Greg silently disappear into a hallway. She mulls the predicament over in her head before reaching a conclusion: there are so many others that she knows both Nick and Greg nor she will be missed for a few minutes. She's desperate to know what's being said between them, so she does the only thing that comes to mind: she fakes a trip to the bathroom, takes a discreet left turn once she reaches the end of the hall (instead of taking the right that would have lead her to the restroom) and listens for their voices. After a moment, she deduces that they aren't in the spare bedroom and they aren't in the office; she pauses, considers her options, and then realizes that they have to be in the backyard.

She quickly heads towards the washroom where a sliding glass and screen door leads to the back porch. She tiptoes in before hiding behind the long blue curtain that covers the large exit. The washroom is empty and she's free to eavesdrop in peace, so she opens the glass door just a little bit; enough to hear what's being said through the screen but not enough to get her two uncle's attention.

She bites her lip and tries to filter out the voices from the other side of the house, where everyone was preparing the table.

When she doesn't hear anything, she thinks that they suspect her presence; in a brave move, she peeks past the curtain and glass to see Greg holding the box and Nick looking rather embarrassed. Lindsey thinks that her snoopiness is crossing the line to spying, but she has a feeling she inherited that as well and can't be blamed for it. She promises herself that she'll only listen to see if they work it out, or if they plan to work it out, or if there's any chance of them working it out at all.

Greg moves his mouth and she listens.

"You kept them?" Greg asks, his voice tinted with amazement. "You kept all the letters?"

Nick doesn't reply, merely nods, because he can't deny it. Lindsey prays that she hasn't somehow made the situation worse; after all, Greg looks like he wants to cry.

So that's exactly what he does.

He tosses the box onto the porch swing and throws his arms around Nick. She can see Nick's expression is one of both surprise and hope, as if maybe this wouldn't be the doom-ish ending he has been anticipating.

"Greg, I-'' he begins, uncertainly circling his arms around the younger man's waist.

"It was me," Greg says, although she has to struggle to hear because Greg's voice is muffled by Nick's shoulder. "I pushed you too hard. I pushed until you couldn't take it, but I was too arrogant to try and get you back. I thought that we'd eventually just… I don't know. Forget about the fight and return to what we were, but we never did. We broke up, Nicky."

"We did break up," Nick whispered and Greg's crying even harder now.

"It was my fault and I'm so, so sorry. I don't care who knows about us, Nicky. We can hide out under a rock and I won't care, I promise. I got so involved in becoming a CSI that I forgot to appreciate you. I took you for granted."

"Greg, you didn't-''

"Yes I _did_, Nicky. I know I did. I just… if you'll give me another chance, I know we could be happy together. How about that, huh? Just one chance."

She holds her breath, bites her lip even harder, and crosses her fingers. There's a tense silence –a moment where her world nearly stops- until she hears Nick softly say, "Greg, baby, you can have all the chances you want."

She has to physically restrain herself from jumping in celebration and screaming at the top of her lungs in joy. Her plan had worked. _It had actually worked!_ She grins; it's a big smile, ear-to-ear and brighter than the sun. She wants to run out there and congratulate them, but when she peers past the curtain and screen again, their lips are like magnets and aren't able to stay away from each other for long.

They're a picture of serenity; nevertheless, she knows it's time to leave. Her work was worthwhile and she's confident that they'll work it out, but this is their moment under the mistletoe and not even her inherited curiosity can make her stay.

So she quietly slides the glass door back in place and retreats from her place behind the curtain, sneaking into the kitchen, acting as though she had been there the entire time, and David Hodges sends her a knowing look that's a mix of both _I can't believe you did that_ and _What's more, I can't believe you actually pulled it off_. She merely smiles and he smiles as well; it's small, but she sees it, and she's glad they can share secrets.

She sees her mother talking with Grissom and has an inexplicable urge to hug her, so she walks up and does exactly that. She doesn't care if there isn't a single present under the tree, because she has her entire family and all their friends and two uncles in love and a mother with some of the greatest inherited qualities of all time.

She wants nothing more than that.

FIN.

_We have so much to be proud of._


End file.
